She Loves the Way He Lies Part II
by AmbyrRose
Summary: Related but not sequel to "She Loves the Way He Lies" - more angst.  Because Tori, she doesn't let the guy she loves push her around. But she doesn't run. She fights back. Tandré
1. So Maybe I'm A Masochist

**NEW AN:**

**Okay, I've been going through some really hard times lately, including boy troubles that bordered on emotional abuse, so this is me getting my "teenage angst" out on paper. I've put a lot of emotion into this, so please review - it doesn't have to be much, just something like "please continue" or "please scrap" (but please, I have enough issues right now without "you suck", so only constructive criticism). And for those of you who haven't read "She Loves the Way He Lies" (though I highly recommend it) you don't have to to know what's going on here. Enjoy!  
>~AmbyrRose<strong>

. . .

**So maybe I'm a masochist  
>I try to run<br>But I don't wanna ever leave  
>Until the walls are going up<br>In smoke with all our memories . . .  
><strong>_~Rihanna, "Love the Way You Lie (Part II)"_

. . .

_Beep . . . Beep . . . Beep . . ._

_Beep . . . Beep . . . Beep . . ._

He called her beautiful. Maybe that's why she didn't see.

Everybody talked about her, she knew that well enough. Tori, the singer. Tori, the actor. _Talented_. That's what they called her. Talented Tori.

Everybody here was talented. That's how they got into this school. Would it be so hard for someone to call her beautiful?

_Beep . . . Beep . . . Beep . . ._

When he finally had, of course, she'd been flattered beyond belief. She knew the rumors. Bad boy, heartbreaker. She could handle that. She was Tori Vega. She'd taken on much worse.

_Beep . . . Beep . . . Beep . . ._

At first she didn't think she'd have to. He was all interlocked fingers and sweet hushed words, kickback slow dances and joking battles of wit. How she'd laughed. How she'd teased.

_Beep . . . Beep . . . Beep . . ._

The hospital was too quiet. The silence sank into her dreams, seeping through, tugging at memories best left hidden. She struggled, jerking away. Sleep. The only haven she had left. Well, actually, there used to be two, but the other one had probably gotten fed up with all this crap anyway and left her, so only sleep remained.

Maybe, just maybe, if she'd known that her other haven was sitting right next to her, if she'd known he hadn't moved for the past eight hours, if she'd known he was singing her song and holding her hand and stroking her hair, she would have been a little more likely to come back to herself. Even if the world outside had become a living hell.

He just stared at her face and cursed himself for ever letting this happen to his best friend.

_Beep . . . Beep . . . Beep . . ._

_Beep . . . Beep . . . Beep . . ._

_Beep . . ._

_Beep . . ._

_Beep . . ._


	2. It's Morning

**AN: I tried to show Tori's more tough/angry side in this, but let me know if you think it's too OOC. Just remember before you comment that anyone would be pissed after this happened to them. Enjoy and REVIEW! Let me know if this is worth it!**

AmbyrRose

...

**It's morning  
><strong>**You wake – sunray hits your face  
><strong>**Smeared makeup as we lay in the wake of destruction  
><strong>**Hush, baby, speak softly  
><strong>**Tell me that you're awfully sorry  
><strong>**You pushed me into the coffee table last night  
><strong>**So I can push you off me . . .**  
>~Eminem, "Love the Way You Lie (Part II)"<p>

...

The sun slanted through the window, spilling across her face. She blinked her eyes open slowly, ripping apart mascara-glued eyelashes. Her room was completely, utterly trashed. Her coffee table lay on its side, glass top shattered across the carpet, and a bruise on her back throbbed dully as she looked at it. Books were toppled from shelves, perfume bottles scattered across the floor, her backpack torn by a metal-studded boot, papers spilled and subsequently tramped. She used to collect glass animals. She could see a few bits and pieces of them glittering in the carpet.

The strong arm draped across her shoulders had a cut on its finger.

A faint bubble of rage burst in her stomach.

He stirred, chest against her back. "Morning, babe."

She didn't reply, stiff in his arms. He shifted. "You okay?"

"Look at this room, she said flatly, not moving.

"Oh, yeah," he said, propping himself up on his elbows so he could see part of her face. "Look, I'm sorry about that, I really didn't meant to push you that hard, I swear –"

She shoved him away and stood, stalking away from him, hardly noticing the pain as broken glass bit into her feet. He sat up, startled. "Tori, what the hell?"

"That's all you have to say? '_Sorry_'?" She raked her hands through her hair. "Look at this room! Look at what you've done!"

"_I've_ done?" He stood too. "I'm not the only one! Look at this!" He held up his arm. A scarlet handprint was stamped across his forearm.

It was slowly coming back to her, despite happening so fast; a tangle of shouting voices and a roar of shattering and breaking, and then, with a howled curse, a blazing pain across her cheek . . .

"You hit me!" She whipped around to stare at her reflection. The mirror was hanging crooked, but her own horrified face was clear enough, along with the unnatural purpling along one cheekbone. "You _hit_ me!"

"Oh, so that's different?" he shot back. "You didn't seem to have a problem with slapping the crap out of my arms!"

"Protecting myself!" she snapped, her mind racing. Last night was still surfacing in her memory bit by bit – she remembered every scream and slap and shove, but the order was jumbled, confused, and how they had ended up falling asleep in each other's arms was still beyond her . . .

"Babe." His voice softened as he reached out. "I wouldn't have seriously –"

"Don't touch me!" she snapped, wrenching away. His face darkened instantly.

"Fine! _Fine!_ You know what? I don't have to put up with this crap." He snagged his jacket up from a crumpled heap on the floor and stalked away. Tori followed, her eyes widening.

"Wait, where are you going?" He didn't stop. She was nearly jogging now. "Harrison, _where are you going?_"

"I'm getting out of here," he said coldly, not turning around. "I'll come back when you can talk without screaming." He slammed the front door. She fell against it, scrambling to turn the knob with fumbling fingers. That wasn't what she'd meant. That wasn't what she'd meant at all.

She burst out onto the front lawn as he was slamming his car door. "Harrison, wait!" she screeched as he revved the engine. "_Harrison!_"

He peeled out and sped away, not looking back. She fell to her knees for a moment, silent. And then she stood, brushing grass off her pants and wiping mascara smears from her eyes.

Her parents would be home soon. Time to pick up the pieces. Always picking up the pieces.

...

**So? I'm trying to break this up more than Part I, just because first I feel like the song goes faster & choppier and secondly to capture how fast-moving everything was. How the fight actually played out will be next chapter. Review!**


	3. Try and Touch Me

**AN: Let this song be forever commemorated as the song in which Eminem said "puppy" :) Seriously, read and review, it's just starting to get interesting!**

**~AmbyrRose**

...

**Try and touch me so I can scream at you not to touch me  
><strong>**Run out the room and I'll follow you like a lost puppy  
><strong>**Baby, without you I'm nothing  
><strong>**I'm so lost, hug me  
><strong>**Then tell me how ugly I am, but that you'll always love me . . .  
><strong>~Eminem, "Love the Way You Lie (Part II)"

...

The way André Harris looked at it, giving birthday presents on birthdays was redundant. What's the point of a surprise present when they already knew it was coming? So he tried to mix it up a bit; he picked a day within a week of his friend's birthday, before or after, and surprised them at their house with a present.

He didn't bother ringing the doorbell or even knocking; it was an unspoken rule between them. He wasn't sure when it had started, but somewhere along the road they'd stopped knocking at each others' doors and just come right on in. He paused at the door, fixed his t-shirt the best he could, and burst in.

"_Haaaaaaaaaappy Birthday to yoooou . . ._" He trailed off as he realized he was singing to himself. The entire house was eerily silent, abandoned. "Tori?" His own voice echoed back at him. But why was the door unlocked? "Tori, you in here?"

She didn't answer, but he heard the faintest of noises from upstairs. A tinkling noise. Like broken glass.

Intruders.

He grabbed the first weapon he saw; Mr. Vega's tripod. Folding it up in as menacing a manner possible, he sneaked up the stairs. The glass clinked again – definitely Tori's room.

He silently counted to three, hefted the tripod, and kicked in the door, charging in with a shout.

Tori screamed, dropping the dustpan full of glass on the floor and stumbling back. They both recognized each other at the same time; he let the tripod fall to the ground as she heaved a sigh of relief.

"André, you scared the fudge out of me!"

"Sorry," he mumbled. "Why isn't anybody else home?"

"Trina insisted Mom and Dad provide an entourage to her audition." She rolled her eyes. "I'm alone for the weekend."

There was something in the way she said it that made him hesitate. He stepped into the room cautiously, looking around in sudden alarm. From the hallway, her room hadn't looked much different. Standing in the middle of it, however, reminded him of footage he'd seen of tornado wreckage. Tori herself looked different, harsher. Since when did she wear so much makeup, or look at him like she was afraid of him?

"Whoa," he said, jerking back with eyes wide. "What happened here?"

She didn't want to relive it. She didn't even want to think about it. But maybe telling him might help her believe it was real.

"It started over something trivial," she said woodenly, stepping around so that her feet were precisely planted. "He was here." She stepped back and around. "I was here."

André watched in dawning horror.

"It got worse. We were screaming at each other – if Mom and Dad had been home they would have broken it up a long time before. But then I said something . . . I don't know . . . think I might have called him coward . . . but anyway, he got fed up and shoved me." She stepped back, between the splayed legs of the table. "I was caught off-balance. Hit the coffee table, fell, came down on top of it." She sat down slowly. "Caught my back, bruised it." She stood up slowly, brushing herself off. "Now I was really pissed – jumped to the right, away from the glass." She stepped sideways to stand in front of the closet.

André felt sick.

"Now I'm here." She crossed the room and turned so she was facing her original position. "And he's here." She blinked slowly, composing herself. "He was so pissed he started really losing it." She ran a hand along the dresser, and then the adjacent bookshelf. "He started raking stuff off the shelves with his arms – I had my little crystal-cut animals on here, that's where the rest of the glass came from." She swallowed, hard. "He grabbed a book – _A Midsummer Night's Dream_, remember how Sikowitz made us read that? – and threw it at me." She traced the book's path all the way across the room. André's hands were shaking.

"I dodged to the right. I was more scared than mad now – I didn't think he'd do something like that. He was still trashing my stuff." She shook her head, but her mouth kept moving tonelessly, as if the words were coming involuntarily. "I didn't know what else to do." She walked forward, quickly, raising her hands. "I lunged at him." She turned. "He raised his arms to protect himself. I started slapping them."

Now she reached up with her right hand, staring at someone only she could see. "It was self-defense – he grabbed my arm and shook me off." She stepped into her own position and spun into the shelf as if thrown by an invisible hand. Her knee barely touched the shelf, and André saw her wince. Another bruise beneath her jeans, then. "I screamed. He couldn't help himself, he doesn't like hearing me scream – he . . ." She trailed off.

André found his voice. "He _hit_ you?"

She closed her eyes. "No."

_Liar._

"I fell to the floor, anyway," she continued, hurrying slightly now. "I crawled away, backwards, toward the wall." She walked over to a patch of wall by her closet and slid to the floor with her back against it. "He realized what he'd done, he was really sorry . . . He held me, told me he loved me . . . and somehow we ended up asleep together." She didn't go into the morning's fight. That was still too raw.

André was staring at her like he'd never seen her before. Not knowing what else to do, she walked over and sank down on the bed, propping her uninjured cheek up on her hand. Slowly, carefully, he sank down beside her.

"I brought you a present," he offered up lamely; it seemed so stupid now, anyway. "Happy birthday."

She perked up slightly. "Aw, thank you! Can I see it?"

"Oh . . . sure . . ." he fished the rumpled box out of his shorts pocket and handed it to her. Even bruised and tired, she still managed a smile as she tore bright-colored paper aside and lifted the lid.

"Oh, André," she said softly, dangling it at eye level. "It's beautiful."

"Try it on," he said dully. He had so looked forward to seeing this, but he'd never dreamed it would be in the wake of something like this.

She clipped the chain behind her neck and stood, turning to the crooked mirror to admire the silver music note hanging just below her collar bone. "I love it. Where'd you find it?"

"Remember when I went to New York for that internship over the summer?"

Her eyes lit up. "It's from New York?"

"Yep." At least that was something special. Anything he said or did at the moment felt woefully inadequate.

"I'll wear it to school tomorrow," she announced, laying a hand over it gently. Almost instantly, though, her face clouded over awkwardly. "Thank you so much, but I seriously need to clean up before my parents get home and all . . ."

"Here, I'll help," he said, stooping to right the coffee table. She flashed him a grateful look, but didn't say anything. In silence that settled somewhere between comfortable and awkward, they started sweeping up glass, straightening papers, picking up books. She felt horrible about lying to him, but preferred his accusing stare to the explosion she knew would come if she told him what Harrison had really done. So she shrunk down, avoided his eyes, and focused wholly on eliminating every last piece of shrapnel from her carpet.

Just as André was fixing up the lamp and she was trying to come up with an explanation for the lack of animals on her shelves, her phone rang. "Who is it?" André asked warily, eyeing it.

She picked it up, checking Caller ID. "Harrison."

He snorted. "Right. Like you're gonna talk to him after that. Dream on." She didn't say anything. "You're not gonna pick up." Silence. "Tori!"

She tapped the screen and pressed it to her ear. "What do you want?"

"Tori?" His voice was totally different. "Look, I've been thinking . . . I'm sorry, okay? I overreacted. You think . . . you think maybe we could start over? I know this great restaurant – you up for dinner tonight?"

"I don't know," she said uncertainly, feeling André's eyes boring into her back. "Maybe."

"Come on, baby." There was a smile in his voice. "I'll even take you somewhere really special afterwards. Just to show how much I love you." His voice grew wheedling. "Don't you love me anymore?"

She could resist the plea in his tone. "Of course I do," she sighed, shoulders slumping. "How about . . . five?"

"Whatever you say, babe," he said eagerly. "I'll pick you up?"

"Sure. Seeya then – love you." She hung up reluctantly. She was okay. The fight was over. He'd said sorry, and he was even picking her up for a treat. So why did she feel so horrible?

André was looking at her incredulously. "You're kidding me."

"What?" Her shoulders rose defensively.

"You're still going back to him? You're still _talking_ to him? After _this_?" He swept his arms out to take in the whole of the room.

"I don't see anything."

"Oh, so that's what he says? Clean it up and it never happened?"

"It was a stupid fight, André," she said quietly. "We apologized. We've moved on. What's wrong with that?"

"But – but – he _hit_ you!" he spluttered. "He _hit_ you!"

"I never said that," she said softly.

"So you're telling me he didn't?"

She opened her mouth to argue, but he met her eyes and her voice died in her throat. "I'm sorry," she whispered, grabbing her purse. She headed for the door, and then turned around abruptly.

For a wild moment, André thought he had managed to change her mind "What?"

She grabbed him by the shoulders. "Promise me you won't tell _anyone_ about this. Anyone at all." She gave his shoulders a little shake, eyes suddenly fierce. "Promise!"

At that moment, he hated Harrison Knopf. Because there was really only one answer to those gorgeous brown eyes, and it was going to kill him. "Promise."

She visibly relaxed. "Thank you," she breathed. Before he could react, she'd pressed her head against his chest, her heart against his ear, and then dashed out the door.

He stared after her for a long moment, and then went back to cleaning. At least she was still wearing his necklace.

**...**

**Please review! I really want to know what you guys think!**


	4. I May Have Hit You Three Times

**AN: I know this is out of order, but I feel like the song should be used to describe the story and not the other way around. Let me know what you think!**

. . .

**I may have hit you three times  
><strong>**I'm starting to lose count  
><strong>**But together, we'll live forever  
><strong>**We found the youth fountain . . .  
><strong>~Eminem, "Love the Way You Lie (Part II)"

. . .

"Ack! Harrison, stop, _stop!_ Get off!"

She dashed across Venice Beach, weaving in and out of the people, desperate to avoid his outstretched hands. He caught up easily, snatching her by the waist. She shrieked as he lifted her into the air, spinning her around effortlessly. Her squeal made him laugh even harder, until they tumbled to the sand, twined together, with her splayed across his bare chest. They were both panting, exhilarated; he wound his fingers through hers and buried his face in her hair. She sighed, utterly content.

"See?" he murmured, his lips brushing her ear. "Aren't you glad you skipped this morning?"

She nodded weakly, too intent on his hands skimming her waist. "Um-hmm," she managed, eyes closing against the sunlight. He was right, after all; she shouldn't have freaked when he proposed skipping. This was totally worth it. This was worth anything.

She was jerked back to reality by a splash of cold water in the face. The tide had risen, and even as she jerked up another wave came roaring toward the two. Shrieking and howling, they scrambled up the sand, snatching up their towels and shoes in a rush toward dry sand. Giggling crazily, Tori threw down her towel and sprawled across it, surrendering herself to the cool salt breeze and blazing sun. Harrison spread out beside her, sun gleaming off his damp chest.

She twisted around to smile at him, and his smile died slowly. She propped herself up on her elbows. "What's the matter?"

He didn't respond at first, but his eyes drifted along her cheek. She put her hand to it and winced at the tenderness. Her makeup had washed off. Her brilliantly mottled bruise was on display for all the world to see.

Shame burned low in her stomach.

"You bring your pretty in the car?" he asked bluntly. She'd never told him – it was such a trivial thing – but she hated when he called her makeup her "pretty". Yes, it was a joke. But every time he said it, she wanted to curl up in a ball and hide.

"Yes," she muttered, her hand still clamped over her face. The sun didn't feel quite so warm anymore.

"Go cover up," he said, shifting so that his back was in the sand and his face was to the sun. "I'll be here when you get back." She nodded mutely, standing and scurrying off. She was being overly sensitive, of course. She always was. Why would he want a huge reminder of their fight, in the middle of such a blissful morning? He just wanted to have a good day. Why keep bringing up past struggles?

She jerked open the car door and felt around the floor for her purse. Sliding into the driver's seat to use the rear-view mirror, she winced at her reflection. The blotch on her face was worse than ever, irritated by the sand, spray and sun. She felt around for her compact, but instead drew out her phone; its screen was lit up by a message. Ugh, of course everyone had to check up on her. Miss one day of school, and suddenly everybody's worried.

3 Missed Calls: André Harris

7 New Messages: André Harris

From: André Harris  
>Sent: 9:10am<p>

Yo Tori, u ok?

From: André Harris  
>Sent: 9:47am<p>

i thot u were comin 2 school 2day?

From: André Harris  
>Sent: 10:24am<p>

Tori, R U OK? Freakin out here!

From: André Harris  
>Sent: 10:52am<p>

TORI

The rest of them were all similar in nature, in varying stages of panic. Tori sighed, biting her lip. He hadn't seen her since yesterday. He didn't know everything was okay now. It was only natural for him to freak, if a little surprising. André was usually the steady one.

She pulled out her compact, working quickly and quietly, adding a little more all around her face so that the covered-up patch didn't stand out. Eight minutes later she was staring at her flawless cheek in the mirror, trying to avoid her own gaze.

She shook off the momentary gloom and looked down at her phone.

To: André Harris  
>Sent: 11:17<p>

Andre, im fine. coming 2 school now. cu there.  
>~Tori<p>

She hated leaving early, but she really didn't have any choice. Hopefully Harrison would let her.

She ran back down to the beach, where Harrison was still lying in the dunes. "Harrison?"

His smile was much more natural with her makeup in place. "Yeah, babe?"

"Um, I love, love, loved this, believe me, but I really need to get to school now," she said, crossing her fingers behind her back. "Would you mind driving me? That way I at least showed up, so my parents won't get mad or anything. And maybe we can come back after school," she added quickly, holding her breath.

He groaned, but got up. "Nah, I got basketball practice. Come on, let's get going."

She threw on her clothes over her bikini and he reluctantly slipped a shirt on over sun-tanned muscles, and they headed for the car. She was silent for most of the drive, staring distantly out the window.

"Hey, what's that around your neck, babe?"

She looked down and realized she'd been toying with the silver music note. "Nothing," she said quickly, dropping it. But too late; now he was curious.

"'Nothing'? It sure looks like something." His tone wasn't dangerous, not yet. "Where'd you get it?"

"A friend of mine went to New York for the summer," she said, gathering up every last drop of acting talent and striving for casualness. "They brought this back."

"Oh." He didn't say anything else, and she suppressed a sigh of relief. She'd introduced him to André, once. Nothing had happened, but something in her gut told her to keep them as far from each other as possible.

They reached the school, and she had him pull up in front instead of parking by the lunch tables. Harrison glanced toward the school – and looked up fully. "Who is that?"

Tori looked over, and her heart did an odd somersault as it tried to jump and sink at the same time. André was leaning up against the side of the Hollywood Arts arch, looking at the car with quiet intensity. Tori's first impulse was to claim she'd never met him, but she knew he would probably talk to her as soon as she got out of the car. "Oh, that's André Harris, remember? My friend."

"What's he doing?"

"I have no idea," she lied quickly, sliding out of the car, slinging her purse over her shoulder, and heading over to the driver's side. He rolled down the window, and she leaned over. "Thank you for a great morning." She offered up her (other) cheek to kiss. His eyes slid past her to where André was still waiting, and instead he leaned out the window and kissed her deep and hard on the mouth. She responded instantly, but quickly drew back.

"Harrison, seriously? We're in front of the whole school!"

He smirked at her. "Just felt like giving you something to remember. Bye, babe." He revved the engine and drove away.

She turned around. André was still there. His eyes were on her face, but he didn't say anything. "We were at the beach," she said awkwardly

He nodded.

"It was just a morning off."

He nodded. His eyes flickered over her cheeks, forehead, wrists. She realized what he was looking for just as he concluded that it wasn't there. "We didn't fight," she said irritably. "Really."

"Yeah, okay," he said, his face unreadable. He jerked his head toward the doors. "If we hurry, we can get to improv on time." She nodded, and they headed inside, André slightly behind her.

For once, Tori didn't enjoy the spotlight, and she could tell instantly that something was not quite right. People's glances were lingering a little too long on her face, and then looking away quickly. "André?" she muttered out of the corner of her mouth, a smile securely pasted on. "Why are they staring?"

He came up beside her, slightly ahead of her like a human shield, but didn't say any-thing. Something about it made her a little more anxious. "André? They are staring, right? What's up?"

He slid her a sidelong glance as they turned into the classroom. "Your bruise is showing," he finally muttered, looking away.

She choked. "Oh, God no, I'll be right back –"

His hand came down on her shoulder as she made to run for the door. "Hey," he said soothingly. "Don't worry about it, okay? It might be better that way. Let it breathe and all."

"But – but what if people start asking? I can act, André, but I suck at lying and I don't know if I can –"

He sighed. "I'll cover for you. We'll think of something." He offered up a crooked little smile. "Just relax, muchacha."

She took a deep breath and nodded. She sat on the end of the row, with André blocking her from everyone else's view. Whenever he caught her eye, he smiled a little bit, and she just barely smiled back.

For the first time in a while, she felt safe.


	5. Then After That Shove Me

**AN: Thanks so much for everybody's patience :) Please R&R, reviews mean the world to me. A shout-out to my loyal readers, you've been great. Love you all!**

**...**

**Then after that shove me  
><strong>**In the after math of the  
><strong>**Destructive path that we're on, two psychopaths but we  
><strong>**Know that no matter how many knives we put in each other's backs  
><strong>**That we'll have each other's backs  
><strong>'**Cause we're that lucky . . .  
><strong>~Eminem, "Love the Way You Lie (Part II)"

...

"So, Vega," Jade said, poking at her salad with her fork. "You gonna introduce us to your boyfriend?"

Tori froze in the process of lifting her burrito to her mouth. "Come again?"

Jade's grin ranged somewhere between a Cheshire cat and just plain evil. "C'mon, Vega. We're your friends, right?" Tori looked about to argue the point, so she pressed on. "So we deserve to meet the boy who's suffered enough head trauma to want you. Right?"

Tori ducked her head. "Gee, Jade, when you put it like _that_ . . ." she muttered, stabbing a fry into ketchup.

"Ooh, I wanna meet him!" Cat said brightly, totally oblivious to Tori's obvious reluctance.

"Yeah, come on, Tori, we're your friends," Beck said, laying a slightly restraining hand on Jade's arm. "We gotta make sure he's up to par, right?" He grinned at her. She managed to return a small smile.

"Yeah, come on, Tori," André echoed quietly, meeting her eyes. "We're your friends."

She bit her lip, worrying it briefly, and then sighed. "All right, fine. Friday lunch, okay? He's got open campus, so he'll meet us here."

Jade's grin vaguely resembled a shark's. "Can't wait."

...

"So, you must be Harrison," Jade said sweetly.

"Yep." He smiled as he sat next to Tori, draping an arm over her shoulder. He took in her piercings, extensions, and black nails. "You must be Jade. Tori's told me all about you."

Jade frowned behind her smile. Tori sniggered. She'd filled him in on just about everybody but Robbie, whom she'd banished from the table for a day. Some things – and people – just weren't worth trying to explain to a normal, jock-type boyfriend.

"I'm Cat," the redhead piped up, beaming at him. "Welcome to Hollywood Arts! You like cupcakes, right?"

"Um . . . sure," he said, flashing her his most charming smile.

"Oh goody, I'll go get some." And without another word, she skipped off to the café. Harrison watched her go, still smiling. His arm slipped off Tori's shoulders. She laughed lightly, curling a hand around his forearm. He didn't look up until her fingernails left little white half-moons in his skin. His head jerked around, and his eyes met André's.

"Oh yeah." His voice changed subtly. "Andrew, right?"

"André," he connected him quietly, offering up a hand to shake. Harrison shook it briefly, his grip tight. André tightened his. He tightened in return, until they were both standing, gripping the other's hand until André couldn't feel his fingers and Harrison's knuckles let out a faint _crack_.

"Beck, Beck Oliver," Beck said, and the tension broke as he offered up his hand. Harrison looked away first, and André sank slowly back into his seat. Tori shot him a _play nice_ look, which he politely ignored.

Harrison talked sports with Beck and cupcakes with Cat, while Tori excused herself to get lunch. She came back, her tray heaping with a veggie burger and French fries. André caught her eye and smiled approvingly. She hadn't had much of an appetite for weeks, and it was good to see her eating again.

"Good grief, Tori, how many fries did you get?" Harrison asked, eyeing her plate.

"Couldn't help myself," she said, grinning. "Festus makes 'em great."

He snorted, not quite returning the grin. "Keep eating like that, and you'll have to join a gym and pronto," he said lightly, winking.

The change in her was instant; she pushed the fries away and sat up a little straighter, like a crusader who'd been ambushed. She smiled, so sweetly the venom in her eyes was almost invisible. "Of course, you go to the gym all the time, don't you?"

He tensed, not threateningly, just enough that his t-shirt sleeves stretched over his biceps. "That's right."

"Do you work out with the basketball team, or don't they let you once you've been cut?"

His eyes hardened, body stilling. "I dropped it myself. You know that."

She nodded in poison-sweet sympathy. "Of course you did, babe. I'm sure you had no choice after the coach caught you at that party."

The smile twitching on Harrison's face could have easily passed for a snarl. "Hey, it was a hell of a party. Weren't you there, babe?" Before she could respond, he answered for her. "Oh no, I forgot. You weren't invited to the party of the year."

Tori flushed, seemed about to correct him, but caught sight of their audience and thought better of it. Even Jade didn't seem compelled to lob in her own shots; she was looking back and forth, wide-eyed, as if watching a fierce tennis rally. Beck was staring at a ketchup stain on the table, his entire body alert. Cat was twisting her hair nervously, eyes darting back and forth but not looking at anyone in particular.

André wanted to kill something. Or rather, someone.

"At least I have some talent other than beer pong," Tori hissed, her knuckles whitening around her fork.

Harrison sat back deliberately, looking her up and down. "You sure about that?" he said quietly.

Tori slammed her fork down and leaped to her feet. For a wild moment André thought she was going to fly at Harrison; then she twisted around and stormed off in the direction of the school doors.

"Babe," Harrison called after her, but she ducked her head and didn't respond. He sighted, looking around at the group for the first time. "Sorry about that," he said, as if Tori's behavior had been that of a bratty toddler. "She gets like this sometimes." He stood, slinging his backpack over his shoulder.

"You're leaving?" Cat asked, startled.

"My lunch hour's almost up," he said, shrugging. "We'll talk when she's calmed down."

André stood too, punching a hand down so hard his nachos bounced. He opened his mouth – and Beck grabbed his arm in warning, shaking his head minimally. Without looking away from Harrison's eyes, he yanked his sleeve out of Beck's grasp and set off after Tori.

She wasn't at her locker, or in any of the classrooms. He even asked a girl to check the restroom, but she came out shaking her head. He'd almost given up when he heard a soft noise from the janitor's closet.

He didn't go in, not at first. He hung back slightly, listening, his ear pressed into the cool wood.

"You don't have to be afraid to put your dream in action . . ." quavered a familiar voice, and then trailed off. There was a moment of silence, and then a _beep_.

"_You don't have to be afraid to put your dream in action . . ._" a fuzzy, slightly mechanical voice echoed back. There was another beep, and it played back again, and again, until she finally seemed satisfied.

She cleared her throat, and there was another _beep_. "So tell me that you love me, yeah, t-tell me that I take your breath away . . ."

_Oh God_, André realized as it echoed again. She was recording herself and listening to it, over and over. Just to make sure.

He opened the door. "Hey."

She started, nearly fumbling the phone. She shoved it into her pocket and spun around quickly, but not quickly enough to hide the tear streaks on her face. "Harrison?" she croaked.

"Gone, I think," he said, trying to keep the fury from leaking into his voice.

She nodded, still facing away from him. "I wasn't not invited to the party," she said suddenly.

André waited.

"I didn't want to go," she said abruptly. "So we fought. It was our first fight, you know, and finally I told him I would go just to make him happy. But he didn't let me. He said – he said I didn't deserve to. And I probably didn't. But I wasn't not invited," she said fiercely, "And I'm glad I didn't go, because I've never seen him drink and I don't ever want to, understand?"

André laid his hand on her shoulder. "Yeah, Tori, I understand."

She pulled in a deep, shuddering breath and turned to him, braving a smile. "Sorry you and the others had to see that," she said. "I just . . . I just really hate when he does that."

"You don't have to apologize," he said, and he would've said more, but the door opened.

Oh, of _course_.

"Tori." Harrison smiled at her gently, tilting his head in an almost intimate manner. "Hey, baby, I thought you'd be here."

She stilled. André stepped slightly in front of her. Harrison noticed. "I don't think you're welcome here," he said matter-of-factly, crossing his arms. So maybe Harrison went to the gym all the time. So did he.

"Um, I don't think you get to be the judge of that," Harrison said, shooting him a filthy look.

"After today's little display, you think you get to?"

"I think you better back off."

"I think I'll stay here, if it's all the same to you."

"Well, it's not, so I suggest you –"

"Stop it!"

They both looked around. Tori had forced her way between them, a hand on each of their shoulders. "Stop it," she said again, less forcefully. "Please."

"Tori," André pleaded.

"Tori," Harrison commanded.

She looked at them both briefly, pain in her eyes. She squeezed André's shoulder briefly – and sidled over to stand by Harrison. He smirked. André snarled.

"I'll walk you to your car," she said quietly to Harrison, not looking at André.

"Whatever you say, babe," he said, still smirking at André. He took her gently by the shoulders, tipped her head up, and kissed her, gently at first, then more thoroughly. She relaxed at his touch, even smiling slightly as he finally released her. He smiled back. "You got my back, babe?"

She tilted her head playfully, seeming to have totally forgotten André's presence. "You got mine?"

"Of course." He kissed her nose, and she sighed.

"Then I got yours. Of course."

He wound his arm through hers. She barely managed to spare one last unreadable look back at André before the door swung closed.

He stared. And he kicked out so hard one of the janitor's buckets crashed into the opposite wall.

_Here we go again._

**...**

**AN: So, what'd you think? I'm trying really hard to stay in character, so let me know if anybody seems OOC. Thanks peoples! ~AmbyrRose**


	6. Together We Move Mountains

**AN: This chapter ended up being a little darker than I anticipated, but I think it turned out all right - review if you agree or think otherwise. Enjoy!**

**...**

**Together we move mountains  
><strong>**Let's not make mountains out of molehills  
><strong>**You hit me twice  
><strong>**Yeah, but who's counting?  
><strong>~Eminem, "Love the Way You Lie (Part II)"

**...**

Tori was in a hurry. She was supposed to meet Harrison for coffee directly after school, but Beck had asked her for help rehearsing before his audition and she just couldn't say no. He'd asked her to meet him in the Box Theater, and it was just one scene, so hopefully she'd be out of there fast enough that he wouldn't be waiting for too long –

When she opened the door, her first thought was a courtroom. Specifically, a jury, as the six people lined up at the front of the theater had all twisted around in their seats to stare at her gravely.

"Um, can I help you guys?"

They exchanged cryptic glances, and Tori very nearly turned right back around. "Here, Tori," Robbie said, drawing up a chair to the front of the theater. She'd be facing them, standing alone. And right now, nobody was meeting her eye.

She sank down into the chair, toying nervously with the silver music note. "What's up with you guys?"

Another cryptic glance. "Tori . . . there's no easy way to say this," Robbie began awkwardly.

"Your boyfriend's a bastard and you need to dump him before you kill each other," Jade said bluntly from the far end, nonchalantly sipping a Fat Shake.

Beck sank his head into his hands. "Babe," he said, his voice slightly muffled, "remember what I said about _delicate_?"

"Well, it's the truth, isn't it?" she demanded. "Vega wanted to know."

Tori jumped up. "Whoa, whoa – what is this, an intervention?"

"It's not really a bad thing," Cat offered up apologetically. "We're just worried about you. You're not yourself when you're with him, you know?"

"I'm just fine, Cat," she said, inching toward the door. André caught her gaze. She sank back into the chair. "And who came up with this, anyway?"

There was a long silence. "I did," said Cat quietly. "You're not happy when you're with him. You should be with someone who makes you happy. Someone like . . ." She trailed off, but her eyes flickered meaningfully over André. Tori pretended not to notice.

"Look, I'm sorry about yesterday, okay? He was having a bad day, and I guess I was too. But we're fine now, okay? I'm fine."

André rubbed his cheek meaningfully. She shot him a look that told him in no uncertain terms what she would do to him if he spilled any of her secrets.

"You don't look fine," Jade said, taking another gulp of shake. "You look scared."

Tori scowled at her. "And since when do you care?"

"I don't," she said, so matter-of-factly she was almost convincing, "but you two were at each other's throats and I really don't feel like scraping either of you off the wall tonight – or any other night, for that matter."

Tori forced a laugh, pulling her phone from her pocket. "You're sweet, Jade, really, but I assure you there is absolutely nothing – oh crap," she said suddenly, jumping up, "is it that late already? I gotta go, Harrison's probably waiting outside –" The phone in her hand started buzzing, and she groaned. "Oh man, that's him." She pressed her phone to her ear, squeezing through the row of seats and moving quickly for the door. André reached out as if to stop her, but the door slammed behind her in a very final sort of way, the bang echoing in the silence.

"That went well," Beck said dryly, leaning back in his seat.

"She's either crazy in love or just plain crazy," Jade snorted, standing up and gathering her stuff. Robbie shook his head slowly, Cat worried her lip. André just stood there, staring at the door, fists clenched loosely at his side.

Beck ran his hand through his hair and sighed heavily. "Does anybody else get a bad feeling about this?"

...

"Hey, babe." Harrison greeted her with a quick, hard kiss as she hopped into the passenger seat. "Nice day?"

She rolled her eyes and snorted. "Let's just say I need coffee, pronto."

"Ooh, that bad, huh?" She didn't answer. "All right, one skinny vanilla latte coming right up." He revved the engine impressively – a gift from his parents on his eighteenth birthday – and sped off toward _La Vida Mocha_.

They ordered, got their drinks, and sat down in silence. "So why were you so late again?" Harrison asked, taking a swig of espresso.

She tried to laugh it off. "Oh nothing . . . a friend just told me he needed a favor, but it ended up . . ." She shook her head and took a sip of her latte.

But now he was curious. "Ended up being what? A pass at you?"

"No, no, nothing like that," she said quickly, a picture of Beck with a black eye springing into mind. She laughed dryly, looking down at the WARNING: EXTREMELY HOT on her coffee lid and muttering under her breath. "More like an – intervention, I guess."

Harrison had sharp hearing, she'd give him that. "An intervention?" He started to laugh. "What've _you_ been snorting behind my back?"

She laughed too, relieved. They sat there for a minute, laughing for way too long about something that really wasn't funny. Despite the relief, she still felt a sick ball in her stomach.

"No, seriously, what kind of 'intervention'?"

Screwed. That wasn't a request; it was a demand, even though it didn't sound like it. She went for the joke again, still forcing small huffs of unconvincing laughter. "Okay, okay, you're not gonna believe this, but . . . you."

His reaction was fast as a snake. All the laughter drained from his face, replaced by anger and suspicion glittering in his narrowed eyes. "What. About. Me?"

"Harrison –"

"_What about me?_"

"Keep your voice down," Tori hissed, as his voice had risen to a shout. "We're in a public place."

He wiped the anger from his face instantly, though his jaw was still clenched. "What did you tell them?" he demanded in a low voice, and now there was just the barest trace of fear in his tone. "You told them about – about our arguments?"

There's only so much a girl can take on a given day. "Arguments? As in you smacking me around?"

"_Once_ is not 'smacking you around'," he said through gritted teeth. "Besides, you were out of control."

"Once?" Tori challenged, deciding to ignore the last bit. "I seem to recall more than once."

"Once, twice – does it really matter?" he said, his voice rising in intensity but not volume. "I still can't believe you went and blabbed to them!"

"They don't know, okay?" Tori snapped, and then slouched back in her chair, feeling suddenly defeated. "They really don't have a clue."

This, if anything, only seemed to make him more agitated. And then his hand had seized her arm, twisting so that she cried out and yanking her upward. "Come on, we're leaving."

"Where are we going?"

"_Let's go._"

"You're hurting me!"

He hurried her through the door of the coffeehouse, before she had time to do more than twist around to call for help. "Harrison!" she said again, trying to fight the rising sense of panic. "You're hurting me!"

"Maybe that'll teach you not to gossip about private matters."

She twisted around to look at him, and what she saw in his face scared her more than anything else she'd seen. "You need help," she said, and then her voice grew to a frantic shout. "_You need help!_"

"Shut up!"

He loosened his grip as he rummaged in his pocket for his keys.

She kicked him hard in the shins and ran.

She heard his shouts, cursing and calling her name, but that only made her run faster. Her car was at the school, just a half dozen blocks or so away, she had no idea why they'd even bothered to drive . . .

By the time he made it to the school, she'd pulled into a small neighborhood nearby and parked in a random driveway. He sped off, obviously thinking she was headed for her house. Great. Now she couldn't go home.

It took her five seconds to figure out where to go. She was at André's house within ten minutes.

She stood on his doorstep, shivering despite the balmy April air. It took her almost three minutes to reach up, hesitate, and jab the doorbell before she could think better of it.

There was a scream of inside, as well as a distant shout of "It's all right, Grandma, it's just the doorbell!" She waited, arms wrapped around herself protectively.

He opened the door, still shouting over his shoulder. "That's right, Grandma, just stay under the bed like usual, I'll be in there in a –" He cut off abruptly as he saw Tori, taking in her wild eyes, folded arms, and lowered shoulders, as if she was trying to make herself as small as possible. "Tori?"

She had no idea what she had planned on saying, but it wasn't what came out of her mouth. "I think – I think my boyfriend's insane."

He let out a heavy, tired sigh. "Come on in." And he wrapped an arm around her waist as he closed the door.

**...**

**AN: HELP NEEDED. I already have the ending all planned out, but I have a small problem. I don't know if you've been counting, but I'm going to run out of lines of rap for the last chapter and the epilogue. Please review with any songs that describe Andre and Tori's relationship throughout this fanfic. Thanks so much!**


	7. Our Love Is Crazy, We're Nuts

**AN: **There's seems to be some confusion about the whole "Beck/Cat" thing, mostly my fault. When I said "related but not sequel to SLTWHL1", I should've said "companion to SLTWHL1". It's not exactly the sequel, because I think it's unrealistic that two best friends should have the same thing happen to both of them. It's more like two possibilities: if Cat had been abused, it would've looked like Part I, but if Tori had been abused, it would've looked like Part II. I based Part I off of Ariana Grande's cover of "Love the Way You Lie II", which sounds more like an innocent girl being beaten, while Part II is off of Rihanna's original, specifically Eminem's rap, which sounds more like a couple is having fights so heated it actually gets mutually violent. So long story short, in this version, Bade is still on, although I do love Bat and am actually working on a Bat one-shot :) Thanks for reading, please review!

**...**

**Our love is crazy, we're nuts  
><strong>**But I refuse counseling  
><strong>**This house is too huge  
><strong>**If you move out I'll burn all two thousand  
><strong>**Square feet of it to the ground  
><strong>**Ain't shit you can do about it  
><strong>'**Cause with you I'm in my [freaking] mind,  
><strong>**without you ****I'm out it . . .  
><strong>~Eminem, "Love the Way You Lie (Part II)"

**...**

"I just can't do it, André. He needs me."

"Tori." He was begging now, and Tori had to turn away from the pleading in his eyes. "Please. Come with me. I'll drive to your house, you can tell your parents and pack your things, and we can be at the beach house by midnight. He'll never find us. You can call a counselor or whatever and get him help from there. Just let me get you _away from him_."

Even after all the screaming fights with Harrison, Tori Vega prided herself on never, ever crying. But something in his voice had her eyes burning with unshed tears. Still, she shook her head. "I . . . I can't."

She expected more arguments, persuasions, even shouting. Instead, he just gave a deep sigh. "At least stay the night here. Just so I know you're safe."

She couldn't refuse him that, and nodded mutely. He touched her knee briefly and stood, walking out of the room. He came back in a moment, holding a bundle of blue flannel in his arms.

"Sorry, my sister took all her pajamas with her when she went to college. Guess mine will have to do." He dumped them into her arms and made for the door again. "I'll let you change and go tell Grandma you're here so she doesn't freak. Shout when you want the fold-out bed set up."

His kindness had her eyes swimming again. "Thank you," she whispered past the lump in her throat. He smiled, but it was a sad smile; there was something there that he wanted to tell her, but couldn't. And then he left her alone with her thoughts and his pajamas.

She sat utterly still for a moment, and then leaned over and buried her face in the shirt. The familiar sweet spice of André clung to the flannel, and she breathed deeply, drawing as much comfort from the scent as possible. Then she shook off the moment of vulnerability and stripped, shrugging the pajamas on over her cami. She had to roll the sleeves and legs once or twice, but they were altogether incredibly comfortable. She hesitated before calling him up, suddenly shy in his clothing, but in the end it was André who knocked first, balancing two mugs of hot chocolate heaped with marshmallows. "I come bearing gifts," he announced, and then paused. "Dang, girl."

Crap. Her hair was a mess, her makeup smudged, and her eyes hidden in shadow. Harrison would be laughing so hard. "I know, I know, I'm a wreck –"

"No," he said, his face changing slightly. Was he . . . blushing? "I – I was just wishing I looked that good in those, actually."

"Oh." Now they were both scarlet. "Um . . . thanks."

"Yeah, well . . . no problem." He quickly offered up her mug, and just for something to do they both took a scalding gulp. "Let's get that bed made," he said, smacking his lips.

The cocoa was fantastic, the bed soft, and the atmosphere more peaceful than anywhere Tori had been in a long time. They sat on the bed and sipped and talked and grew steadily quieter until André had to slip Tori's mug from between her limp fingers and arrange the blankets around her. She snuggled her cheek against the quilt and sighed. He sighed, too, and went to turn off the light.

His grandma was already at the door, eyes characteristically huge. "An–!"

"Shh!" he hissed, actually clapping a hand over her mouth. She nodded, eyes still stretched wide, and he let her go.

"Is that the angel you said was staying here?" she whispered loudly.

He flipped off the light and closed the door. "Sure is, Grandma. Good night."

He dreamed of her all night long.

...

Tori blinked sleepily, stirring. The guest bedroom was full of morning light, and the bed was so wonderfully warm she seriously debated never leaving. The moment was shattered, however, when her phone rang. She almost didn't pick up, but she needed to check the time anyway, so she dragged herself out of bed and snatched up the phone.

She noticed two things immediately: one, she'd slept for nearly twelve hours.

And the caller was the last person she wanted to talk to while wearing another guy's pajamas.

Still, she couldn't afford not to pick up. "Hi, baby," she purred, hoping she didn't sound as intensely guilty as she felt.

"Where are you?" he asked tersely.

She prayed she'd heard him wrong. "What?"

"I came to your house to surprise you," he said with painstaking clarity, "and your mom met me at the door. Claimed you'd never come home last night."

Oh, shit. "A friend randomly called and invited me for a sleepover," she said casually, scrambling for her shirt and jeans. "I just woke up."

"Which friend?"

Shit, shit, _shit_. What now? If he offered to drive her home, she was screwed; she couldn't get to another fast enough and if she invented a friend, he would probably find out. "Actually, I meant my cousin," she improvised quickly. He'd been to one of their family reunions and been staggered by the sheer number of Vegas. No matter how many cousins he visited, she could always be with another. "I'll be home soon, okay? Don't move."

"Hurry," he said shortly, and hung up. Oh, he was _really_ pissed.

She flew into her clothes, slung her backpack over her shoulder, and dashed downstairs. André greeted her at the foot of the stairs, and the smile on his face tore at her heart more than anything Harrison had ever said. "Morning, muchacha." His smile faded, and she almost cried then and there. "In a hurry?"

"Harrison called," she said, practically dancing on the spot. "I gotta go." She stepped. He blocked.

"What, that's it? No breakfast, no goodbye? He just calls you up anytime he wants and just like that – gone?"

"He can't know I was here," she said desperately.

"Why not? We didn't do anything wrong. We're _friends_, Tori."

"I don't think he'll see it that way."

Oh, God, no. He was starting to get mad. "Is he the only one that counts? 'Cause that's all you ever say anymore. Harrison this, Harrison that. What about you, Tori? What about _us_?"

Her breath caught, her eyes widened; the room spun crazily around her. "André . . ."

"Yeah, that's right, I said 'us'," he said defiantly. "We both know what I'm talking about and I'm tired of pretending." He grabbed her hand in both of his and looked her squarely in the eye. "Tori, you're going to have to choose. And I want you to choose me – and leave him. I love you, Tori Vega, and there's no way he does."

She was breathing way too fast, there was no way this was happening, she refused to believe it . . . "André, I can't talk now, I really have to go."

He dropped her hand. "I get it. You choose him."

"André, that's not what I –"

"All right. Fine. I believe you said you had somewhere to be, anyway." He stepped aside. "Go."

It was a dismissal. She forced herself not to look at his face, not to cry out or beg him to stop her all the way to the car. But God, she wanted to.

She expected to cry as she drove away. She didn't. She didn't feel anything at all.

...

Harrison's car was in the driveway, but he was nowhere to be seen. Waiting upstairs, then. Probably in her room. She wrenched the keys from the ignition, slammed the door shut, and bolted inside. Her mom and dad were already at work. Thank God.

He greeted her with the same quick, hard kiss; it was as if yesterday had never been. "Hey. Sleep well?"

"Very, she said truthfully, acutely aware she hadn't had time to put on any makeup or even brush her hair. He must have noticed, because his smile twisted into a smirk. "Um, hey, do you mind if I freshen up a little?"

"Not at all," he said a little too fervently, laughing. She gritted her teeth and resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Still, he seemed much more content now that she was within reach, and she found herself relaxing. She pasted on a smile, her heart rate still slightly fast, dropped her backpack on the floor, and headed for the bathroom.

Leaned over toward the mirror, she noticed something. The silver music note. She still had André's gift around her neck. She touched it gently, and was still fighting the tears when she walked back into her bedroom.

She noticed the difference immediately; the very air was slightly chilled, like the room was bracing itself for impact. Harrison was standing over her open backpack, his clenched fist holding a wad of flannel as far away from him as possible.

André's pajamas.

"What is _this_?" he snarled, turning almost feral eyes on her.

"M-My cousin's pajamas," she said weakly.

"_Liar!_" He threw them across the room and advanced on her. "You little _whore!_"

"We didn't do anything," she protested, backing away. He seized her by the arm so harshly she cried out. He didn't falter.

"It was that Andrew guy, wasn't it? Wasn't it, you bitch?" He shook her hard. "Tell me!"

Her free hand fluttered to the music note. And something deep down snapped.

"Yes, it was André, okay? He let me sleep in his guest room, and he offered to take me far, far away from you, and I might just take it up on it, and you know why?" She wrenched around so she could see his eyes. "Because he loves me, Harrison. I think he's loved me since the first time he met me. And I think I just might love him. He loves me more than you ever could and he'd never lay a finger on me unlike _you_ because he loves me, he loves me, he loves me –"

The first blow knocked her clear against the door, but it wasn't until the fourth blow that her chant of _he loves me, he loves me_ died off. After that, all she heard was roaring in her ears.

**...**

**...**

**AN:** Thank you to **babyluv360** for the suggestion of a song for Tandre, but I want to make something clear that I didn't in the last AN. As my song for Tarrison (humor me) is so dark and violent, I'd like something light and sweet for Tandre, something along the lines of "Somewhere Only We Know" by Keane (yes, I know what the obvious solution is, but I'm using that song for another one-shot). If you don't know the song, I'd strongly suggest listening to it, but if you'd rather not, please just suggest a sweet, innocent song that seems to describe Tori and Andre's relationship. Any reviews at all are deeply appreciated! Thanks!


	8. Just Gonna Stand There

**AN: This story has officially taken a life of its own. I've been trying for nearly three chapters now to write a chapter a little lighter than the rest, and I'm not even in a bad mood and this is possibly the darkest yet (up for debate). Ah well, the next should be better - the end is nigh, my friends! Thanks for sticking it out to the end - it means a lot :) Enjoy!**

**...**

**Just gonna stand there and watch me burn  
><strong>**But that's all right because I like the way it hurts  
><strong>**Just gonna stand there and hear me cry  
><strong>**But that's all right because I Love the Way You Lie,  
><strong>**I Love the Way You Lie  
><strong>**I Love the Way You Lie . . .**

~Rihanna, "Love the Way You Lie (Part II)"

**...**

André hadn't thought it was possible to feel this completely, totally miserable.

He was sitting in front of the TV, trying to drown that crappy feeling in chocolate ice cream and Looney Tunes, when his phone rang. For a moment, his heart jumped; he yanked the phone from his pocket with fumbling fingers, barely able to look at the screen. And then his chest returned to lead and his heart rate slowed again; the picture ID was definitely not Tori. He tapped the screen dully and pressed it to his ear. "'Sup, Lil Red?"

"André?" she sounded worried. "It's Cat. Well, obviously you know it's me, because you called me 'Lil Red' and you don't call anybody else that because nobody else has hair like me –"

"Cat," he said wearily. "Not in the mood."

"Right. Sorry. Well, I was just driving by Tori's house, 'cause today's her birthday and all and you know we have that tradition of going to Wok Star on our birthdays – my birthday and her birthday, I mean, not like we have the same birthday or anything – and anyway, I think she forgot which really disappointed me because the orange chicken there is really good and I was really hoping –"

"Cat!"

"Sorry!" For a moment, he thought she was going to burst into tears and hang up, but she composed herself. "Anyway, so I went up to the door and knocked, but nobody answered. I was going to just call her and ask where she was, but I heard noises inside."

His throat closed over. "What kind of noises?"

"Bad kind of noises," she whimpered. The phone creaked as she clenched it in her fist. "Like, these weird bangs and thuds and a guy yelling."

André stood up, brushing crumbs off his shorts and grabbing his jacket. "What did he say?"

"Well, at first I tried not to listen, because he used a lot of really bad words and I don't like bad words, but at one point he said something . . . I don't know why, but it made me nervous . . ."

"Cat, spit it out!" André said tersely, frantically searching the counter for the car keys. Grandma was napping. She wouldn't miss him.

"He yelled something about 'No way in' . . . heck . . . 'are you leaving me'." She hesitated. "It sounded kind of like Harrison."

"Cat," André said deliberately, jumping into the car and slamming the door. "Listen to me carefully. I want you to get out of there, okay? Don't go inside, whatever you do." Harrison would snap her like a twig. "I want you to go to everybody's houses and round up the whole gang – Beck, Jade, Robbie, everybody. Tell them Tori's in trouble and to come with you. Then _and only then_ do you come back to Tori's house."

"Do you really think she's in trouble?" Cat asked, alarmed.

"I intend to make sure she's not," André said grimly, backing out the driveway as fast as possible. "Can you do what I asked?"

"Of course, but what are you gonna do?"

He shifted gears so fast his car screeched in protest. "I'm going after her. Meet you there." He hung up, muttered a quick prayer, and peeled off down the street.

...

The door, thank God, wasn't locked. André barreled through, looking around frantically. Downstairs was entirely deserted, aside from a note on the counter from Mrs. Vega telling Tori she'd be back before dinner and to help herself to anything in the fridge. He took a quick, deep breath, steadying himself.

Harrison scrambled down the stairs, shoes untied, fumbling with his car keys. He didn't notice André until he was two steps from the ground. Their eyes locked, and they froze.

His knuckles were bloody.

"Oh, _God_," André breathed. "What did you do to her?"

Harrison bolted. André lunged football-style, wrapping his arms around the boy's knees so they both crashed to the floor. "_What did you do to her?_"

"Get off me!" Harrison kicked, hard, catching André in the mouth. He tried to hold on, but one more vicious kick sent him reeling away, slightly dazed. Harrison clambered up quickly, scampering for the door. André struggled to his feet as the door slammed. Didn't matter. He was here for one person only.

He climbed the stairs as quickly as he could, bursting into Tori's room without knocking. For a moment, he didn't even see her; he hadn't thought the room could get any messier than that first fight. He was dead wrong. This was so, so much worse.

And then he saw the shape crumpled on the bed, almost lost in the twists and folds of the sheets. She was breathing, he could see that instantly, but it was all wrong; the slow, heavy breathing of the deeply asleep. Or unconscious.

He approached the bed cautiously, swept the bedspread out of the way, and gently brushed the hair out of her face. He sucked in his breath through his teeth.

Her entire face was a mass of bruises, scrapes and abrasions. Both eyes were blackened, her nose and mouth were streaked with blood, and one wrist was unnaturally swollen. The other hand was clenched loosely at her throat, and when he lifted it away, he saw what she'd been covering. The silver music note.

And then his mind, which had been debating if it was safe to move her, was made up.

He swung her up newlywed-style, her head falling limply against his chest. Her eyelids didn't so much as flutter; the bad wrist flopped oddly. Broken, then. He tucked it into her body and hurtled back down the stairs, her weight almost nothing in his arms.

He was so surprised by the four people in the living room he shied like a spooked horse, then relaxed marginally as he realized who it was.

"Vega," Jade said, stopping short, eyes wide with horror. "What the – Vega!"

Robbie made a strangled sort of choking noise, falling back a step and nearly dropping Rex, who for once was silent.

"Harrison?" Beck asked tersely. André nodded, and they shared a grim look, the kind that spoke of lying in wait with baseball bats in a dark alley. They probably would have done it, too, if Cat hadn't whipped out her phone.

"I'm calling the police," she whispered, lifting the phone to her ear with trembling hands.

"I'm driving," Jade said, turning on heel.

The ride to the hospital, which should've taken nearly twenty minutes, took no more than ten; Jade drove like a drag racer on the Autobahn, her mouth a grim slash and her fingers clenched around the wheel. André sat in the back, Tori on his lap, futilely trying to protect her from every bump and jostle in the road. Cat rode with Robbie, and every once and a while André looked in the rearview to see Cat still on the phone, lips moving frantically.

The hospital had been alerted by the police; there were cop cars already there, and Tori was rushed past the ER waiting room to (André swore) the exact bed she'd sent Rex to months before. Doctors barked medi-speak, police scribbled down statements, masses of tubes obscured her face, splints were strapped on, IVs poked and prodded. One by one, the group moved to the waiting room, brushed aside by doctors, asked for more information by the police or simply unable to watch. Except André. He was still holding her hand, carefully avoiding the IV, eyes on the traces of her face visible under the oxygen mask.

He couldn't remember ever feeling so scared.

...

Somewhere around the two-hour mark, the curtain tore open.

"Tori," Mrs. Vega said, halting in her tracks as she saw her daughter. "_Tori_."

"Who did this?" Mr. Vega demanded hoarsely, his knuckles whitening on his wife's shoulder. "How did this happen?"

Trina had ducked in after her parents, but said nothing, sinking into the chair next to André, pale-faced and shaking.

And then they all looked at André.

He swallowed, his mouth dry. Raw panic and anger melted away for the first time, leaving something else: guilt. Why the _hell_ hadn't he told someone, anyone?

Oh, God, it really was all his fault.

"André?" Mrs. Vega said quietly.

Before he could open his mouth the curtain opened again, and André's blood sizzled instantly. He stood, Tori's hand still twined loosely through his. The Vegas looked around, confused. André moved slightly in front of Tori, furious.

The officer shunted Harrison to one side as he entered, then seemed to notice the people gathered around the bed for the first time. "Oh – Chief, I didn't realize you were on this case personally."

"This isn't my case, that's my daughter," Mr. Vega said, instantly alert. "What case?"

The officer looked intensely uncomfortable. "I . . . I don't know how to tell you this, Chief, but I was told this was the room of a domestic abuse victim."

"WHAT?" Mr. Vega's voice actually echoed down the ward.

"We have several eyewitnesses testifying to the rockiness of – of Ms. Vega's relationship with one Harrison Lane." He gripped Harrison's arm tighter and shook him slightly. "A –" he checked his notes "– Cat Valentine stated that she heard his voice coming from the house the day

"Not true," Harrison said through gritted teeth, "Not true at all! This guy –" he jerked his head at André "– this guy's been smacking her around since the beginning! I've been trying to convince her to go in for help!" He hung his head, eyes glittering with unshed tears. "I wish I'd convinced her," he choked. "I failed her. Just look – it's a miracle she's alive. I hope to God her wrist heals right, or she might have to deal with that forever." His head wrenched up, and he shook off the officer's grip. "All because of _you_."

"Yeah, you're right," André retorted. "It is my fault. My fault I didn't insist she stayed with me all day today. She could've been with me, safe, instead of unconscious in a freaking _hospital_!" His voice rose to a shout. "_You sick bastard, look at what you've DONE!_"

Harrison didn't seem to want to look at Tori; however, he seemed strangely calm. "It's my word against yours, and you never liked me anyways. You wanted her all to yourself."

He had a point. "Fair enough," André said tightly. "Just one more question. Seeing as her arm is under the sheets and you haven't seen her since yesterday, how the hell would you know her wrist was broken?"

He spluttered wordlessly for a moment, all traces of composure gone. The look on his face was beyond murderous.

"She _liked_ it," he snarled, "the little whore _liked_ it! You want proof, look at my arms – she slapped me! She started it every time – she _wanted_ it rough!"

"LIAR!" André roared, and for the second time in so many hours he slammed Harrison to the floor.

It was over before it started, really; Harrison's hands were still cuffed behind him and they were surrounded by police officers, and the second they hit the ground there were hands roughly pulling them apart. Mr. Vega said nothing, releasing him with only a quick look that could have been warning or approval. Harrison, still howling threats and obscenities, was dragged away, spraying scarlet from André's right hook to his mouth.

"We'll never get him," said Mr. Vega wearily.

"What?"

"Without the victim's testimony, this could all be dismissed as hearsay." His eyes landed on Tori. "Without the victim, the most we can hope to get is a misdemeanor."

Mrs. Vega gave a quiet sob. Trina bowed her head. André started to swear, but couldn't find the air to do so. His lungs seemed to have frozen over.

He collapsed back into the chair, took her hand, and closed his eyes.

_Beep . . . Beep . . . Beep . . ._

**...**

**AN: Sorry if that was a bit of a downer. Just to let everybody know, I have the next song picked out, so no more suggestions, but thanks for all who did - I'll go into more detail about that in the next AN. Thanks!**


	9. Summer Turned to Winter

**AN: Drumroll please... The LAST CHAPTER! I'm SO EXCITED! Review please - this is like three months in the making! But first, I must give credit where credit is due:**

**deets1: "Survivor" is a good song for Tori and Harrison, but for Tori and Andre, I had to veto it. Thanks for the suggestion, though!**

**Vie: "According to You" was pretty spot-on, but in the end, the melody was a little too upbeat. Nothing wrong with that, but I wanted something sweet and soft to contrast the violence of Tori and Harrison**

**horrormaster2.0.1: "Halo" is a great song, but I feel the one I chose was just a little more specific. It definitely is a great Tandre song, though, so thank you.**

**Carphanie: "Bang Bang Bang" This may make you angry, but in truth, I am just not a big Selena Gomez fan. I decided this song had a little more depth. Thank you for the suggestion, though!**

**babyluv360: "I Need A Doctor" I like the song, but one rap is sometimes hard to distinguish from the other, so I decided this has more contrast.**

**IamRuthless: "The Best Thing I Never Had" Great song, nearly made it, but as I said in our PMs this is just slightly slower and sweeter. I still greatly appreciate it, though.**

**Every song was seriously considered, every input was valued. Thank you all, my faithful readers! Enjoy!**

**...**

**Summer turned to winter, and the snow it turned to rain  
><strong>**And the rain turned into tears upon your face  
><strong>**I hardly recognize the girl you are today, and God, I hope it's not too late  
><strong>**Oh, it's not too late**

~Michael Bublé, "Lost"

…

The nurses wandered off when her condition didn't change. The Vegas were finally sent home, as there was nothing else they could do besides torturing themselves. André dosed in his chair, head drooped against his chest, still trying to warm her cold fingers in his.

Somewhere around 3AM, he was woken by a high, sharp _beep_.

He jolted up, terrified that she was flatlining, but after two heart-stopping seconds the beep died. A signal, then. Dreams of testifying in court and frying a certain known domestic abuser on the electric chair still clouding his brain, he rubbed his eyes and looked at the instruments. He was no doctor, but hanging around a hospital for two days had given him at least a rudimentary understanding of what was good and what was bad. Her heart rate had picked up, not much, but definitely some . . . And what was going on with her brainwaves?

They spiked.

She sat up and screamed.

He could tell instantly that she wasn't really there; her eyes were still closed, the lids straining so that only a strip of white showed beneath. She leashed out blinding, IV drip and other wires flailing crazily. André fell back against the wall, fumbling for the nurse's call button. She was almost awake. She had to be. If only someone knew how to wake her.

Then, just as abruptly, she sat back down, her eyelids stilling. Her heart rate calmed, her brainwaves slowed.

"No," André muttered. "_No!_" He rushed forward, managing to catch her around the shoulders before she hit the pillows. Abandoning composure, he shook her lightly. "Come on, Tori, _fight_!"

She stirred slightly, eyelids fluttering, pulse thudding in her throat.

"That's it," he breathed, blood roaring in his ears. "That's it, you got it . . . Don't leave me alone here . . ." His voice rose to a shout. "Come on, _fight!_"

…

Harrison. He was _everywhere_, his fists on her body, his hands at her throat, pulling her close only to throw her across the room. She was crying out, but her voice wouldn't work; Throwing out a hand to break her fall, but it crumpled like paper . . .

And then there was nothing, nothing at all . . .

"_Come on, Tori, fight_."

She cowered at his voice, but it wasn't Harrison. Fight what? Fight him? She'd tried. She'd failed.

"_Don't leave me alone here._"

André. It was André. Alone? What was going on? Was he in trouble? If only she could see him, figure out what was going on . . .

"_Fight!_"

She fought.

Her eyes wrenched open, and even the dim fluorescent light was blinding. She was breathing hard, her thoughts spastic and scattered. Disoriented, she blinked, trying to find a straight line of thinking.

And found André's face inches from her own. "Tori! Oh thank God, thank God – can you talk?"

Her tongue didn't quite feel hers yet, but she managed to make an affirmative noise. He raked his fingers through his hair, and she noticed his hands were shaking. She could feel it as he supported her back. "What happened?" she managed, trying and failing to sit up.

He arranged her quickly on the pillows, pulling his chair up to sit by her again. He was gentle, but each move found some new tube or ache. She tried to rip the oxygen mask from her nose – she was breathing fine, and it itched like crazy – but André stopped her. "How much do you remember?" he asked, looking at her warily.

She surveyed her body, mentally taking inventory. Broken wrist from falling, bone bruise on her leg from the kick, marks the length of her throat from his fingertips . . . Harrison's rage had left its mark everywhere she looked. "Not much," she lied, hot shame creeping into her cheeks. God. She looked awful.

She wasn't sure what tipped him off that she was finally about to cry. Maybe it was her quick, hard blink as her vision bent. Maybe it was the soft sniffle as her throat closed and her nose burned. Maybe it was the low whine that escaped her chest when it all became too much. But he was sitting on the bed again, and her face was in his shirt, and he was trying to find a place to put his arms that wouldn't hurt. Every part of her ached, but that was okay, because it kind of matched the way she felt as she finally cried. She'd never cried like this before; rough, raw sobs wrenched her entire body, sounding almost like shouts of pain. He finally settled for simply placing both palms on the small of her back, his arms circling her but barely touching. She managed a few words, and he told her exactly what she needed to hear.

"I'm . . . so . . . _sorry_ . . ."

"It wasn't your fault, Tori, you didn't do anything, but you're gonna be okay now . . ."

He kissed the top of her head, then her cheek, then her throat. She pulled back slightly, and with her nose all red and her eyes all puffy and her hair falling in a crazy tangle around her face she just looked so damn beautiful that he leaned forward and kissed her lips.

She froze, and he paused, uncertain.

She nearly pulled free of the IV as she threw herself forward and kissed him back with everything she had. Her heart monitor went crazy from its stand, and his pulse was roaring beneath her fingers. He kissed her again, deeper, and she attempted to curl her fingers through his hair. His eyes opened quickly, and he deftly found her splinted wrist and pinned it to the bed to keep her from hurting it further. She tried to scoot closer; he blocked her with his body, one hand skimming down from her waist to her thigh to make sure she hadn't moved anything damaged. She moved; he moved. She tried; he blocked. Over and over again, even as they kissed, he kept frantically trying to keep her as still as possible, and it was so _André_ she giggled, and then they were laughing like idiots, foreheads still tipped together gently.

"I'm here, dears – oh . . ."

André whipped around. The nurse had finally arrived, standing in the doorway with an expression of utter bemusement. He stood up awkwardly, and Tori coughed loudly. "Um –" he started, but the nurse's eyes flashed with comprehension.

"Oh – lie back down, honey, let me make sure everything's in order." She flashed over to the instruments, studying them and fiddling with a few knobs. "_You_," she added with considerably less warmth, as André moved to take Tori's hand, "go sit. Now." Her tone left no room for argument, and he sat quickly, winking at Tori reassuringly.

There was an awkward moment of silence, with the nurse checking her vitals, Tori watching nervously and André trying to absorb what had just happened. He wouldn't have believed it, honestly, except she kept glancing over and smiling, just a little, until the faint rumblings of joy in his gut became a fully-fledged roar.

"Well, honey," she said, smiling down at her in a way that said she'd read the case file, "There are a few bumps and bruises, of course, but on the whole you seem to be doing just fine, really. It was probably the shock that kept you down for the count – and that wrist, of course." She tutted, although behind the mock cheeriness André detected real anger. "I'll get the doctor to write you up for some painkillers – I'd say six to eight weeks, tops." She ran her eyes over the mottled, blotchy bruises covering her skin. "And if I were you, I'd keep icing those for a while."

"Does that mean I can check out?" Tori asked quickly, her voice breaking slightly. The nurse smiled gently and nodded.

"Of course, dear. Let me just go call your parents, of course, let them know you're awake, and get the doctor to fill out your prescription . . ." She left, humming softly. There was another softly awkward moment of silence.

And she flung out her arms and he sat down hard and they picked up where they'd left off.

"I take it you're feeling well enough to leave?" André gasped, when they finally stopped for breath.

She giggled. "You know, weirdly enough, I'm feeling just fine." The laughter died abruptly, and she sighed heavily. "What am I supposed to do now, André? Where is – where is he, anyway?"

"Juvy," he said with satisfaction. "And if I have anything to say about it, he'll stay there until the trial."

She stared at him. The monitor picked up. _Beep . . . beep . . . beep beep beep beepbeepbeepbeep_ –

"Tori, whoa, calm down –"

"Trial?" she fairly shrieked. "Oh, God, André, I don't wanna have to tell all those people, I don't wanna tell them, it's too hard, and –" She made another noise, somewhere between a cry and a groan. "Oh, my _parents_, André – although, I guess it's too late for that, right? They probably already know!" She laughed, horribly bitter, a wildness in her eyes as she looked at Harrison clearly for the first time.

He waited for a moment, gauging her mood. He laid a hand on her shoulder, gently, cautiously. The beeping slowed almost instantly. She tilted her head against his hand, although the frantic look hadn't totally gone from her eyes. "If I hug you right now," he said casually, "are you going to tear my head off?"

She giggled weakly. "No, not yours, I promise."

He folded her carefully into his arms again, and she sighed. "Here's what I say," he whispered into her ear. "I say you go to the trial. I say you tell the world what a piece of scum he is, and have him serving hard time while you're long gone." She smiled against his throat. "But until then, I say we just get out of here."

She stiffened, but not in a bad way. More like intrigued. "Where would we go?"

He smiled. "Remember that beach house I told you about?"

She drew in a sharp breath just in time for the doctor to come in. André went back to his chair unbidden this time; partially because the doctor would've told him to anyway, and partially because it was hard to watch Tori and needles.

Ten minutes later the tubes were gone, Tori was taking her first shaky steps, and hers weren't the only eyes that were wet.

"Could you give us a minute?" she asked the doctor, and he nodded and withdrew. She turned to André, and there was a new look in her eye, one that he found he liked a lot.

"How?"

"My car's right outside," he said instantly.

"How long?"

"Forty-five minutes, an hour tops."

For one glorious minute, she seemed about to say yes; then she hesitated. "What about my parents?"

He thought for a moment. "What about you?"

She blinked, and he recognized the look: peace. "Got a piece of paper?"

…

_Dear Mom and Dad,_

_I'm fine now, I promise. The doctors said if I took my medicine and rested my hand, I'd be good to go. I'm sorry I didn't say goodbye, but I'm not gone forever, although we're keeping the exact address a secret, just because it's simpler that way. I gotta do this for me. I love you very much, but I can't handle LA right now. Too many bad memories._

_I'm not alone, though. André's with me (not Andrew, André, Trina). My very best friend. You'd be proud of him, Daddy. He treats me like a princess, like no one I've ever met before. I can't believe I didn't figure it out sooner, but I guess you were right when you said that's love, Mom. He's got a place we can go until the trial, where I can heal up and be myself, and I'm excited even though I'm scared. I'm sorry if I let you guys down with Harrison. You might ask me what I was thinking. I don't really know._

_Then again, I guess if I never dated Harrison, I might never have realized how I felt about André._

_Tell my friends thank you for everything they did, and for trying to warn me, and that I'm sorry I didn't listen. Tell them André says thanks, too, although he's busy trying to pack up the car right now and find me something to wear besides a hospital gown. Cat should be pleased. I think she knew all along, really._

_Oh, and Daddy, one more thing. I heard André talking on the phone, and something caught my attention. Look, I know you're a police officer, and it's your sworn duty to protect and serve and all that, but I need a personal favor. If an assault and battery case happens to land on your desk concerning one Inmate 742, could you maybe lose the file or accidentally send it through the shredder or something? Any evidence you could rustle up would be purely circumstantial. And you could never find the bat or lacrosse stick used, I guarantee it._

_Don't worry, I'm in good hands. He loves me, crazy as it sounds. And you know what? I love him._

_All my love,_

_Tori_

_PS: FOR TRINA'S EYES ONLY._

_Yes, I know you've wondered._

_Yes, he is a _really_ good kisser._

…

'**Cause you are not alone, and I am there with you  
>And we'll get Lost together, until the light comes pouring through<br>'Cause when you feel like you're done, and the darkness has won  
>Babe, you're not Lost . . .<br>When your world's crashing down, and you can't bear the cross,  
>I said babe, you're not Lost<strong>

**...**

**..**

**.**

**AN:**

**... AWWW! MY LITTLE BABY'S ALL GROWN UP!**

**That might sound weird to some of you, but that's seriously how I feel right now. I don't know what I'll do without it... Strange that this all started out because I was having a bad day...**

**Thank you all for reading this through to the end, and on a more serious note, a guy doesn't have to even touch you to make you feel like Harrison made Tori feel. If you at any point in this story have thought "Gee, that sounds familiar", THAT IS NOT OKAY. There is a guy out there who will treat you just as well as Andre and any guy who doesn't is not worth your time because You. Are. BEAUTIFUL.**

**Thank you! All my love!**

**AmbyrRose**


End file.
